Don't You Try To Pretend
by See Them Llamas Run
Summary: John takes Claire to his place. Oneshot.


A/N: I'm sort of having a writer's block in Giving Me Everything. So that's why I'm writing oneshots. It's just a thing I do.

Disclaimer: John Hughes is not a llama.

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**Don't You Try To Pretend**

John brings Claire to his place. Not that there's much to show.

Claire is really polite about it though, pretending to be impressed and saying things like, "This is really cozy. Is that clock like an antique? That's a nice rug." John doesn't believe a word of it.

"Stop spewing crap," he grumbles, even though he secretly thinks it's kind of sweet.

Naturally, she wants to look at the baby pictures that decorate the hallway on the way to his room. He's not really sure why they're still there, because it's not like his parents give a shit about what their stupid-ugly-waste-of-oxygen son looked like when he was three years old. Claire, however, is fascinated.

"I wish I knew you back then, you were a lot cuter," she teases. John tries not to grin and fails miserably.

When they get to his room, he offers her a seat on his unmade bed. She accepts, glancing around in silent observation as her eyes dart from dark posters on the walls to suspicious stains on the carpet. John attempts to inconspicuously kick some dirty clothes under his bed. He wasn't expecting her to come over today.

"I like it," she tells him with an unconvincing smile.

He rolls his eyes. "Bullshit."

"No, really. It's a lot better than my room. Mine is…pink."

"Well, you like pink."

"Yeah, but that's not the point." She looks up at the ceiling to see a tattered collage of metal band posters, complete with a Swiss army knife stuck into one guy's face. "As many times as I go into my room, it'll never feel familiar. I've only been in here for thirty seconds and I'm already comfortable."

That makes sense, because John's room is the only place that actually belongs to him, where people can't follow him or control him. He's relaxed there; it makes sense that someone who doesn't hate him would feel the same. It's like Zen or something.

(Imagining that Claire doesn't hate him is like imagining that he won the lottery. It never feels completely real.)

He sits down beside her on the bed. He starts humming something and eyeing her suggestively, and even though she responds with a "you wish," they're making out about ten seconds later.

She's good at this – obviously had some practice – but not acquainted enough to be wholly at ease. She doesn't seem to know what to do with her hands, because instead of touching his face like most girls do, they're tensely gripping the bed as if for balance. John gives her a hint by running his own hands up her back, rubbing past her neck, and weaving his fingers through her hair. Claire doesn't really move, but relaxes a little more.

His thumb skims over her ear for a moment, and that's when he realizes that she's wearing one diamond earring. John remembers when his dad noticed the one she gave him – to his horror – how he demanded to know where his son found it and tried to convince him to sell it. (Add to the beer fund.) John had to assure him that the stone wasn't real.

Like some kind of half-and-half friendship necklace, he's still wearing the other earring. He hasn't even taken it off. Never did he imagine he would go so far with a girl as to do something so pathetic – in fact, he promised himself that he _wouldn't_.Sometimes, John disgusts himself.

He stops caring when she slides her tongue along his teeth.

John is really starting to enjoy himself when the door swings open, and they jerk away from each other like a scorching object. John rubs at his lips, making sure none of that pink shit is smudged on his mouth. His mother is standing in the doorway, snapping angrily, "Damnit, John, I told you to pick up your – " She stops abruptly when she sees Claire. Her whole expression changes.

"Hi," says Claire sheepishly. She's ruffled and a little embarrassed, but as charming as ever.

"Hello." His mother looks at him sharply, but her voice is shockingly civil when she says, "Honey, you didn't tell me you were having company."

It's fake, but John's not in the mood to judge. "Yeah. Mom, this is Claire; Claire, my mom."

Claire stands to hold out her hand. "How do you do, Mrs. Bender?"

The last time John brought a girl home was freshman year. She wore too much makeup, a low cut shirt, and tight jeans; John thought he was in love and his parents thought she was a whore. Needless to say, Claire is a different story. His mom seems impressed by the nice clothes and pretty face, like she never dreamed her son could accomplish something like this.

"Claire," she repeats as if the word is heavenly. "Claire. What a pretty name."

"It's a family name," John tells her. Claire rolls her eyes, but she's smiling.

"Will you be staying for dinner?" asks his mother.

In fact, John really wants Claire to stay because he wants his dad to see her. He wants to watch his father's reaction when he realizes that his son can be happy, despite his efforts. But of course, if Claire met his father there'd be no limit to the miserably embarrassing events that would follow, so John settles for seeing the look on his father's face when his mother shares it at dinner.

"Claire's on a diet," John says. "If she eats your food she'll turn into a fat girl for sure."

His mom looks like she's on the verge of calling him a disrespectful little brat, when Claire interrupts. "I'd love to, but I'm busy tonight."

"Maybe some other time, then," says Mrs. Bender, smiling warmly. Before she leaves, she remembers why she came in the first place and says, "Oh John, don't forget to pick up your jacket in the living room." John is a little bit shocked at the lack of rudeness.

"What was that?" he asks. "I had it under control."

"She was going to get mad at you," reasoned Claire.

"I think you misunderstand. Now she's gonna keep asking about you until you really do come back. Then when you finally do, she's gonna make you eat Spam casserole."

"That's okay."

"You want diarrhea for a week?"

Claire makes a face. "Ew."

"And my old man'll treat you like a spoiled shit. Does that sound fun to you?"

"_You_ treat me like a spoiled shit."

He raises his eyebrows in disbelief. "Oh, so you _wanna_ come back?"

"Yeah," Claire says shyly. "I mean – if you want."

John considers that for a minute.

He wants. He wants her to come back and soften up his parents, make them believe that he's worth something if he can get a girl like Claire to come home with him. He wants to sit on his bed and make out with her. He wants to laugh at her and tease her. He wants her to ask who all the bands on the posters are, and probably be disgusted by their music. He wants to be her first everything, especially the first guy she can't stand to be without. He wants her to be the first girl he can't stand to be without. But until then, he just wants to content himself with being with her. It's been so long, he can't remember the last time he actually _liked_ a girl.

The End.

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A/N: The thing with oneshots is that they always turn out differently than I plan them. Usually, I like them either way. I hope you liked this too. Please let me know in a review.


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